Libertalia
by Rikotsu-sama
Summary: It was him—ghoulish features with impassable black eyes—who asked first, "Did they have your son? Did they have Shaun?" And it was he who first wept for her when she answered, "Shaun is dead." Feeling a little righteous, Nora had invited Hancock along to meet X6-88 at the wreck of the Libertalia. / Speculation on why F!SS would fall for Hancock and some fluff-ish. [F!SS/Hancock]


A/N: There are nearly immediate main story-line spoilers after infiltrating the Institute. Just forewarning. If you want spoilers, great. If you don't want spoilers, don't say I didn't warn you.

(Also, disclaimer that I used some of the language from Hancock's actual romance with a little creative liberty. Sorry if it's not word-for-word from the game, and apologies for any inevitable inconsistencies with Fallout 4.)

* * *

Meeting X6-88 at the wreck of the Libertalia, Nora was cautious. The idea of recapturing a synth didn't sit well with her. Even one who ultimately chose to become a ruthless raider with, no doubt, a high head count of innocent lives on his hands. The idea of wiping his memory… of everything he ever was simply being erased? It made her more sick thinking he would get a second chance than it did thinking of putting a few bullets in his chest. All her life, prewar and post, she had fought for justice. As a lawyer or vault dweller, her goals were the same. What justice would Gabriel's victims get by him being allowed to hit the reset button? If these Gen 3 synths were as human as she believed, they deserved no special treatment. Even without a government to enforce them, the laws of the Commonwealth were very clear: no one like Gabriel deserved a second chance. And she was bound and determined to be the instrument of justice.

Feeling more than a little righteous, Nora had invited Hancock along to meet X6-88 at the police station nearby the maze of wharfs that served as the entryway to the Libertalia. Having him at her back bolstered her confidence for what she anticipated to be a difficult decision.

Nora centered herself as she walked down the asphalt, sniper in hand. Inhaling deeply, she released her stress with her breath, causing Hancock to give her a curious look.

"What's going on in that head of yours, doll?" He playfully poked her in the side of the head. "I see the gears turning up there, but you aren't saying anything."

Nora flashed him a bright smile. "Why so interested, John?" She loved calling him that. To her, he wasn't John Hancock, someone masquerading as an American hero, he was just John. A person, who not unlike herself, had a hand to play in serving the people of the Commonwealth justice where others could or would not.

"I'm always interested in you, doll." He accented his words with a smirk that heated up her cheeks.

She looked away, at the upturned ship in the distance. She hadn't told him about Shaun—Father. The thought soured her smile. She remembered the moment she returned to Sanctuary the way some remembered the bombs falling.

 _The force of the teleportation made her knees wobble as she was spat out on the bridge. She would still have to get used to that— the feeling of all her molecules pulling apart and slamming back together. Looking up at the guard post next to the gate, she couldn't really hear as one of the settlers—what was her name again?— shouted to the others that the General was back. Sometimes that title annoyed her, but right then the ringing in her ears drowned out everything else._

 _A moment later, a worried gaggle of her companions rushed out to meet her, and it was him—ghoulish features with impassable black eyes—who asked first, "Did they have your son? Did they have Shaun?"_

 _And it was he who first wept for her when she answered, "Shaun is dead."_

Again, she tried to breathe deeply and center herself, draw herself back into the present. This place wasn't safe, and she didn't have the luxury of wading through memories when at any moment raiders coming or going from the Libertalia could require her full attention. And then there was Hancock, strolling next to her with his red coat overtop a set of leather armor she'd forced him to wear, despite complaints of it ruining his image. Hancock, who had held her until she fell asleep when she first returned home.

Looking over at her, he was still smiling in that nonchalant way, as if there was everything in the world to smile about. She opened her mouth to speak, but was interrupted, as a shadow moved in her peripheral vision, down by the dock warehouse at the end of the peninsula. The butt of her sniper connected to her shoulder as if it were a part of her, and she held her breath as the scope zeroed in on a figure ahead. Poised to fire, she realized their clothes were familiar, and even in the dim of dusk, she could recognize a courser uniform. Sighing, she lowered her gun and lead the way to where X6 stood ready just inside the warehouse.

Nora nodded along numbly as X6 explained that Gabriel's quarters were at the top of the wreckage and that they were to wipe him using a command code upon finding him. You just needed a command code to wipe a synths entire life… all the pieces, both fabricated and lived, would cease to exist. He would never have to face justice for what he'd done. And she couldn't allow that.

It made her sick to think of what she'd seen in the Institute— coursers who acted like wardens to a flock of sheep. Watching one scold a synth for accessing a terminal without authorization, she could only feel unsettled. "Perhaps you need a memory wipe," the courser had suggested. As if free thought was a crime. It was entirely too Orwellian.

Thinking of when Father had told her of Gabriel— B5-92, she couldn't believe the way he had spoken of him. "He _believes_ he is a man named Gabriel." As if everything about him was fake. As if he wasn't a breathing, autonomous being. As if these synths were no more than tools like an adjustable wrench or a hacksaw. Nora, in her experiences with her companions such as Nick and Curie, and even in her short time with the Railroad, had seen that proven wrong so many times over. Synths were as human, if not _more_ human, than those made of flesh. They felt love and hate and grief in the same way as everyone else, and with the exception of the Gen 1's, made their own choices. They were their own people too, even if they were plagued by ghosts of the prewar humans who served as the foundation for their personalities. Nora refused to believe that allowing a synth to be reset was the right way to serve justice. They made their choices just like everyone else; just like everyone else, they must face the consequences of their actions.

Nora was relieved when they finally set to crossing the wharfs. Crouched low, she picked off raiders with quiet shots at great distances. Quietly, she crept across the platforms, and found herself cursing at the way they swayed beneath her feet. It made it difficult to get in an accurate shot, which was paramount if she wanted to remain unnoticed until it was too late. She cursed the pulley-platform which all but announced her presence with a bull-horn as she stepped onto the ship itself. She pondered how easy it would be to simply set it aflame and sit back on the shore to watch the embers, and was discouraged with her lack of foresight to plan ahead and bring a flamer. Pushing forward, the few remaining raiders were easily slain in their sleep or felt a knife slip through their necks like butter while a small hand stifled the screams on their lips.

Hancock watched her, lingering at a terminal in Gabriel's quarters, wondering why she didn't hurry topside. He watched as her features slowly morphed into a frown as her hawklike eyes swept across pages of text.

"What is it?" he asked her, already feeling useless, having not fired a single shot on their way up. He knew he was valued, she made that abundantly clear, but on missions like this where she was able to take down ninety percent of a crew of raiders without a single one even noticing their friends were dropping to the ground, he felt unimportant. The tension in the shoulders of the courser who followed them like a shadow only made him more uneasy. He talked the talk in Goodneighbor regarding the expulsion of synths, and having one conversation with this… X6-88 made him believe he'd made the right decision about the Institute. Synths entirely, though? They didn't deserve to be unwelcome in Goodneighbor anymore than ghouls deserved to be cut like a tumor from Diamond City. Just look at Valentine. He was as upstanding as a person could be, and he was unmistakably mechanical.

She frowned at him, and muttered, "These logs— the Libertalia was once a settlement. But they slowly turned to raiding because they lacked the resources to sustain themselves." She ran a hand through her long brown hair, pulling some of it free from where it was tied back. "It's so easy for me to forget that good people are capable of despicable things. That's what this world does to them— it makes villains of good people."

He turned a curious eye on her. "What are you saying? That they don't deserve to be slaughtered?" A spark of anger flared in his belly, and he gripped more tightly at the laser rifle in his hands.

She turned to look at him, brown eyes dark even in the well-lit room. "No. We've always agreed on that, John." He loved it when she called him by his first name. He was so accustomed to being called Hancock or Mayor that it was easy to forget John MacDonough. His self-proclaimed persona had served him well in seizing power in Goodneighbor and shaping the town into a place where people could live life on their own terms. 'Of the people, for the people' and all that. Hearing his name on her lips was a reminder of his own humanity, of his own vulnerability. It was the whole reason he had set out with her in the first place: he had gotten too comfortable living in a chem-haze and not fighting any real battles; he had gotten far too used to feeling invulnerable. She reminded him to stay sharp, because he wasn't invincible. That type of thinking would likely get him killed. And what would Goodneighbor be without its Mayor?

She smiled as she quoted him, "If people need killin', we kill 'em, right?"

He nodded, visibly relaxing. "Right."

She sighed, standing and making for the ladder that lead topside. "It just reminds me why I don't always hate being called General. There are good people out there in need of good homes, of the resources necessary to not resort to this kind of life." She gestured around her as she stood at the bottom of the ladder. "If they need a General to spearhead the establishment of moral settlements, then I will gladly be the figurehead of justice."

"Spearhead away," he chuckled, watching her intently as she climbed the ladder.

She stopped with one hand on the hatch and looked past him, at the courser. And the courser spoke, "B5-92 is above. Please remember to avoid violence. It is to be retrieved unharmed."

Looking back at her, Hancock watched emotions war behind her eyes as she unlatched a hunting rifle from her back. Looking away, she whispered, "Right."

Hesitating, she glanced down at Hancock. "Don't mind me, just enjoying the view," he coquetted, glancing at her butt where it was perfectly displayed for him halfway up the ladder. Red rose in her cheeks in a way that made his whole body ache.

Clearing her throat, she pushed the hatch open and the excitement began. Up top, Nora conversed with Gabriel, and the courser seemed irritated at her diversion. Fed up with her antics, the courser forced Nora's hand, using the reset code himself, and teleporting away in a startling flash of light. It was no less jarring now to see beings flash out of existence now than it had been watching Nora stand on that platform in Sanctuary and disappear.

 _He was anxiety-stricken for the entire time she was gone— what was taking her so long? The teleporter had worked, right? The mechanic named Sturges had insisted that everything went as planned. Still, Hancock could not push away this sinking feeling of doom, as if nothing would be right again. As if Nora wasn't coming back. What if she never returned? What if the teleporter had malfunctioned and she had dissolved into the universe? She would never come home and he would never know what truly happened to her._

 _He sat, swamped by his fears, in the living room of her house. The one where she'd once had a family. A baby boy and a husband. The thought brought him to frown. It was so easy to forget that bright-eyed Nora had been widowed so recently. Even if it was ten years ago chronologically, as she had suggested when telling him that Shaun was ten years old in the memories of that mercenary—Kellogg. His heart ached for her: widowed, son kidnapped, and now she had missed nearly his entire childhood? It was altogether too much trauma for anyone to endure, even someone who deserved it, where Nora was definitively not one who did._

 _From what she had told him, she used to be a person called a 'lawyer'. They argued in a room for or against someone's guilt in the eyes of the law. It seemed silly. Why didn't she simply pull a gun on them, convince these people that she was right? But he chastised himself— he had seen her persuasive charisma get them out of a few pinches in the past, and he had witnessed her snake-tongue save innocent lives. Words sure had their place, but it was so much easier when you could simply… demonstrate your point with a knife or a bullet._

 _Hancock snapped from his thoughts at the sound of a voice shouting, "The General's back!" from their post by the gate. He sprang from his seat as though it was on fire. He sprinted down the road and burst through the gate ahead of Preston, Valentine, and Piper, who had similarly been waiting on everyone's favorite vault dweller to return._

 _She sank to her knees on the rotten wood bridge as he approached, and his heart plummeted. Grasping her arms, he pulled her up to look at him as he asked desperately, "Did they have your son? Did they have Shaun?"_

 _She looked at him with haunted eyes, and the words that passed her lips tore his heart from his chest, "Shaun is dead."_

 _It wasn't fucking fair. Of all the people who deserved to lose a child, Nora was not one of them. She had been dealt a shit hand, and no matter how much good she did in the world, it only seemed to get shittier. It just wasn't fucking fair that people like her never caught a break. Hancock's blood boiled at the injustice of it all, and he couldn't stop hot tears from spilling onto his skin. Damn those Institute bastards straight to hell for what they had done to Nora and her family._

 _Gathering her small body up into his arms, her arms linked around his neck as he took her away from the concerned, pitying eyes of their other companions. Even the Paladin was there, still refusing to leave his power armor when staying in arguably the safest settlement in all of the Commonwealth. His curious, judgmental eyes followed them as Hancock stalked past, Nora in his arms, into her house. Nora didn't need that right now. He didn't know exactly what she needed, but it wasn't that._

 _He set her down on her bed, and as he went to release her, her arms, thin but deceptively strong, only tightened around his neck. "Don't leave me, John." Her voice was small, like a child's._

 _Even with his own tears still stinging at his eyes, he nodded, spilling onto the bed with her. Laying there, the body of the strongest woman he knew cradled against him like an infant, he felt an inescapable despair. The sight of her on that bridge had sobered him completely. She had been utterly defeated, declawed by the death of her son. And damn it all, he would mourn with her; he would mourn the baby boy she only knew for eight weeks before he was so coldly ripped from her. It didn't matter that he had never known Shaun and it didn't matter that Shaun wasn't his son. In that moment, his entire being wallowed in her sorrow, and he prayed he could alleviate even an ounce of her pain. He would do everything in his power to give her justice, even if that was beyond his reach._

 _And so he would hold her until bittersweet slumber overtook them both, the aftertaste of his words still on his lips, "I'd never leave you, Nora."_

X6 left them to mop up the last of Gabriel's henchmen, and Nora scowled the entire time. Finally staring down at the last raider, she pocketed the last of the ammo in his clip and the few caps he had to his name before wiping the blood from her hands on his shirt. In the end, she wasn't able to give Gabriel's victims justice. He would get his second chance. The thought made her frown deepen.

She was startled from her thoughts when Hancock poked her in the head for the second time that day. She looked at him as she stood, the lamplight atop the ship casting shadows across his face. "What was that for?" she whined.

"Get out of your head," he chided softly, lighting up a cigarette. She smiled as the luminescent embers lit his face as he inhaled a long drag.

She smiled impishly at him and returned his scolding tone as she spoke, "You know those things will give you cancer."

"Y'know, love," he began, smirking confidently, "I think I'll live." One of the many benefits of his ghoulish status, she speculated.

Nora sighed, looking away from him and walking out to the edge of the platform that stretched out over the rest of the Libertalia. Crossing her arms, she watched the line of the city darken on the horizon, only illuminated by the scattered light of fires. This wreckage was once Boston— her hometown. These streets were once filled with the roar of engines and the twinkle of street lamps instead of debris and bloodshed. She could remember walking down the street with Nate, neon signs illuminating shop windows at night. She could remember the years she spent in school, from when she was no older than four until her graduation from law school. She felt an ache thinking about those times. She often fantasized about when her worst worries were about the pregnancy and Nate's assigned reading for baby-preparation. He was so studious, insisting they read up on how to be good parents prior to Shaun's birth. Nora had insisted that they would figure it out. They would both love the baby and wasn't that enough? A small, sad smile crossed her lips at the thought. She had been so wrong.

She looked out at a broken city feeling as though she was a broken woman. Just as Boston had fallen into ruin, all it was having been lost to a bygone era, so had she. All she had been before the war—a lawyer, a wife, a mother—had seemed to dissolve. She had to learn to wield a gun, and to deal out death instead of laying down arguments and planning rebuttals. She also had to deal with being alone, of being unable to save the baby she still felt as though she had only just nursed. Still, months later, the tidal surges of hormones from giving birth had only just subsided. She no longer was prone to bouts of hysterical tears unprompted, and her body no longer ached with the need for a baby to nurse. Still, there was an unshakable chill she could still feel, grasping at the edges of her. The inescapable feeling of emptiness that she feared would never leave her.

"Still enjoying the view?" she asked slyly, not looking behind her. She could feel his dark eyes on her, smell the scent of his dwindling cigarette on the air.

His laugh filled the air, making her heart hammer against her chest. "You know, love, I was just thinking that it's a mighty fine view anytime you're here." His words caused the heat to rise in her cheeks. "But right now…" She could hear him approaching as he continued to speak, but she didn't—couldn't move. His voice had her captured, enraptured. "Seeing you standing there against the backdrop of the city…" He was so close to her now she forgot to breathe. "It's so much better than any other high…" His words were hot on her ear.

Suddenly nervous, she turned toward him with a fiendish idea before he could go any further. "You really want a different type of high, Hancock?" She was too terrified to use his name in that moment, for fear of where it would lead her.

His dark eyes were so close to her, and her pulse quickened at his proximity. "I'll gladly take any type of high you'll give me, doll."

She smiled widely and took his hand, pulling him down to sit next to her on the platform where it reached out, only a few boards extending outward over nothingness. The boards groaned under their combined weight, causing a nervous crease to form between Hancock's eyebrows. "Trust me, this'll be great," she insisted. Laying down on her back, she gazed up at the sky and scooted slightly backwards so that her head barely hung off the platform, her long rope of hair dangling limply against gravity's pull.

"Nora, you're going to get yourself killed doing that," Hancock scolded from where he still sat next to her, a quiet anxiety behind his words.

Nora grinned at the chance to throw his words back at him. "Y'know, love, I think I'll live." Lifting her head to look at him, she laughed at the frown on his lips. "C'mon, lay with me."

Hesitantly, he complied by first setting aside his hat and then following suit and lying so their shoulders touched, head hanging off the platform. Nora smiled at him before closing her eyes, letting the gripping fingers of the Earth's magnetism tangle in her hair. At any moment, the boards could give out and they would tumble downward, perhaps onto the other platforms, perhaps into the sea. It didn't matter. The feeling of the boards bending beneath her, of the cold night breeze in her hair: it was exhilarating. She felt alive there, on the precipice of uncertainty and death.

Gazing up at the stars, she found some small comfort in that they had not changed. Still, she had not seen a night this clear prewar. Then, city smog and lights had dimmed the stars, but now on that cloudless night, they shown down as if civilization had never deterred their light. She spotted the big dipper, tracing the lines of the simple constellation with her eyes. Reaching one hand up towards the sky, she reveled in how small it made her feel. She had endured so much these past few months, but looking at the stars always made her feel insignificant. Not even a blip on the radar of the universe. Even her actions in the Commonwealth, the justice she served? When the world returned to dust, or when the universe expanded into icy oblivion, it would no longer matter whether Gabriel's victims had justice. Still, the lure of justice tugged at her like a call to war, a deep resonant feeling reverberating through her chest. Futile or not, justice was something worth fighting for.

"John?" His name was quiet on her lips as she let her hand fall back into place on her stomach.

"Yes, love?"

She smiled. What a comfort it was to have him there next to her. Just the feeling of his shoulder touching her own acted like a grounding rod, dispelling the wild thrashing of the emotional maelstrom she had trapped inside her chest. "I lied to you before." She waited for a response, scared to look at him, before continuing anyways, "Shaun isn't dead. But I wish he had died as a baby, or even a child. I never imagined finding my son… my baby boy… He's sixty years old, John." At last she turned her head to look him in the eye. "And he's the leader of the Institute."

The disbelief in his eyes made her heart ache. She hadn't meant to lie to him. And she could sometimes justify it to herself that she had simply omitted the whole picture. The Shaun she'd known, the one she gave birth to, _was_ dead. This new one? 'Father'? That wasn't her Shaun. And he never would be.

"I was just so ashamed…" she admitted for the first time, half to herself. "He's become this… this _monster_ , hell bent on treating synths like property instead of people. He ignores the fact that he's created sentient life. _People_ with autonomy and self-awareness. People who shouldn't get a free pass for hurting innocent people and who shouldn't be punished for carving their own path through life." She let a sob rip through her throat, and brought a hand up to cover her eyes. "I gave birth to a monster, John."

"Oh, love," he cooed softly as he sat up and pulled her onto his lap. Her small hands fisted against his chest as she wept against him, her whole body shaking with each sharp intake of air. Resting his cheek against the top of her head, he softly stroked her back, whispering sweet nothings into her hair.

As her sobbing slowed, she a watery laugh fell from her lips. "All this time, I thought the worst thing that could happen was that Shaun had died. I never thought I would come to wish he were dead…"

"You never could have anticipated this sort of thing," he answered. "And this is not your fault, Nora." She looked up at him with sad eyes. "You didn't give birth to a monster. You gave birth to a brilliant little boy, and the Institute turned him into a monster." He cupped her cheeks in his hands, regretting that his fingers weren't as soft as they were before his becoming a ghoul. She deserved someone normal here, comforting her. She deserved to never have her husband, the upstanding soldier, taken from her. She deserved someone so much better than a ghoul.

She chuckled sadly, a weak smile on her lips. "Even if that's true, I haven't told you the best part. His DNA is the basis for every synth ever made. My DNA, John. It's as if every synth ever made is my grandchild," she laughed wryly. "How ludicrous is that?"

He smiled, trying to cheer her up. "You're far too young to be a grandmother, doll."

She let out an amused laugh, rubbing at her eyes. "Thanks for the optimism," she murmured, all of a sudden self-conscious. His arm lingered on her waist as she sat sideways between his legs, half turned to him. "And thank you, John," she added earnestly, "for everything. I'm not sure how I would've gotten through all this without you." Looking up at him, she barely even noticed the scarred skin and black eyes anymore. Even the bald head. She saw John Hancock, her friend and the single most attractive man she had met in the Commonwealth. Sure, he didn't have Paladin Danse's roguish good looks or MacCready's sentimentality, but the confidence that Hancock possessed, ghoul or not, was borderline criminal. He had a self-assured swagger that no one could deny was arresting. The way he spoke was more than enough to bring a fire to her cheeks. How had she gotten so lucky, to have him in her life?

Her heart still sank at the thought of Nate, but she no longer pined for him in bed at night. The thought of his reassuring hold and the simple moments they shared no longer lurked behind closed lids. Now, more often than not, she found herself thinking of John, of wanting him, but being too scared to act. She feared a confession would potentially ruin the good thing they had going, and she wasn't ready to accept the complications that went along with a relationship. Not with everything else she had going on.

But in that moment, looking at him in the firelight, she knew that he owned her. She couldn't imagine a life without his teasing smiles or the heady smell of his cigarettes. She was hopelessly, helplessly entangled in him. And he looked at her with those eyes, those eyes that she knew wanted her. His flirty disposition contrasted his nature. Below the surface, she had seen he was an exceptionally dedicated, driven person. He took what he wanted and regretted nothing, so it piqued her curiosity how and why he would look at her the way he was right now, but would do nothing.

"John," she breathed, using the collar of his red coat to pull him closer, down into the intoxicating depths of her. His breath caught in his throat as she looked at him. She loved watching what her voice did to him.

"Y'know, love," he began suddenly, "being out here with you, it's made me realize most of my life to this point, I've been running out on the good things I got. I skipped out on my family, my life in Diamond City, took up with you just to get out of Goodneighbor. Hell, running from myself is what made me into… into a damn ghoul." She frowned at the words. Was he scared she would care about that? "But being here with you, for the first time in my life, things have just felt… right. And running is the furthest thing from my mind. I mean I left Goodneighbor thinking I would just sharpen up the ol' killer instinct, but whether it's fate or destiny or just goddamn coincidence, I ended up with you. Being out here with you, it's made me realize that maybe all my running… from my life, from myself… Maybe it wasn't such a bad thing after all because it led me straight to you."

"Oh, John," she murmured, reaching around the back of his head to pull him closer, resting their foreheads together as she closed her eyes. At least, she mused, they didn't have the problem of their noses bumping together. She steeped herself in the feeling of his touch, on her face and her waist, and in the vinous scent of his body.

"I feel pathetic admitting now that I'm terrified you'll come to your senses one day and discard me," he added, breath hot on her face.

She laughed breathily as she opened her eyes, painfully aware how his fears mirrored her own. "I'm in love with you," she whispered as she looked him in the eyes.

"Oh c'mon, you don't want to wake up to this mug every morning," he chuckled, fingers flexing against her back.

"And yet, I'm so ridiculously, utterly in love with you, John Hancock, and there's nothing you can do about it." She beamed at him and the look of a lost puppy that lingered on his face. It was so cute and simultaneously sexy that she almost laughed as she kissed him. He instantly relaxed against her, and she pulled him down, drowned him in her love. With each pull of their lips, more and more of her stress seemed to fade away. His arms around her waist gripped tighter, and the feeling of his fingers digging into her body sent her mind into a tailspin. She finally broke away, and oxygen burned its way back into her lungs.

He looked at her through a filter of desire, and it made her feel as though she was burning from the inside out. He smirked, pulling close to press a kiss to the pulse of her neck, making her cling to his shoulders. She could barely breathe as he spoke against her collarbone, "Moments like this are how I know all that karma stuff is bull, because no one like me should be this lucky."

She gasped as she felt his teeth rake against her exposed flesh, leaving a love bite. Still unable to completely process through the hazy fog in her head, she laughed, pulling his face back up for another kiss. "I was right about the high, though, right?"

He laughed against her lips, smiling into their kisses. "Damn, love, you're always right."


End file.
